It never got easier. In all her years practicing medicine, in all the personal defenses she'd built, losing people had never gotten easier. She knew it wasn't her fault, specifically; she was only one woman, and could only be in one place at a time, and dying in a swift, vicious attack wasn't the same as losing someone to surgical complications on the table or even in recovery. All those with medical training or healing ability had done their best, and it showed in the number of people who were recovered or in the process of recovering.
She wasn't in the mood for a celebration, no matter how somber or respectful it may be, and she wasn't fit company for a crowd. When others were leaving to attend the dinner at the dining hall, Rose stayed and watched until the fire was merely a soft glow of ash and ember on the beach. There was time yet before her overnight at the clinic, and she was restless. In a blink, the dark haired woman was a pale ghost of an owl, soft white feathers flashing as she winged her way back towards the cirque that was now home. She found herself circling the boundaries of the magical place, wanting to fly further but tethered to area with old fears renewed. Going alone beyond the boundary wasn't safe - anywhere, for her, but especially here.
It was intensely frustrating.
Rose dove suddenly, a silent white streak that flared just inches before striking the ground, and in another fluid instant she was a woman again, striding towards the clinic with hands that opened and clenched as though shaking off the memory of talons. She didn't spot the giant raven until it stretched, black wings catching the corner of her eye with the motion, and she stopped abruptly to peer at it. She didn't know everyone at the Cirque, wasn't sure who it was perched on the tent, but she knew it wasn't a regular bird. After a moment of consideration, she reined in her frustration enough to regain her usual professional demeanor, and gave the bird a courteous nod.